Courtyard House: Home Alone

Meng Zhuolin's gaze fell on the collar insignia, her pupils suddenly contracting. Of course she recognized them—the golden general's star, the embroidered cherry blossoms, were the highest-ranking insignia of the Japanese Army. The bloodstains on one of the general's insignia had turned black, like an ugly scar.

Her fingers trembled uncontrollably, wanting to touch the collar insignia, but then stopped in mid-air.

"This is……"

"Prince Asaka Yasuhiko," Lin Yifan said, his voice as calm as if he were stating the weather, "the Japanese Emperor's uncle, the commander of the North China Area Army. I killed them all."

"Mom, since you and Father escaped from Beiping, I've had some extraordinary encounters and gained some special abilities."

Lin Yifan gently placed the collar insignia on the bedside table; the metal clashed against the wood with a dull thud. "I can do things that ordinary people can't."

Meng Zhuolin's gaze lingered on those collar insignia for a long time. Prince Asaka Yasuhiko—of course she knew this name, the executioner after the fall of Nanjing, the old Japanese soldier in the newspapers who always wore a reserved smile.

She knew that "Ghost" had captured him alive and held a public trial in Beiping a while ago, where he was subjected to dismemberment in front of tens of thousands of people. She never expected that all of this was the work of her own son.

"You..." her voice was hoarse, "How did you..."

"That's not important," Lin Yifan said. "What's important is that I now have the ability to protect you."

He paused, observing his mother's expression: "I have never killed an innocent person. I only killed those who deserved to die, and I only helped those who deserved to be helped."

Meng Zhuolin suddenly grabbed his shoulder with surprising force. Her eyes were churning with so much—fear, confusion, heartache, and a complex emotion that Lin Yifan couldn't decipher.

"You're seven years old," she said, each word seemingly squeezed out from between her teeth, "What should a seven-year-old be doing? Going to school, climbing trees, fighting with their siblings for a piece of candy…"

"I don't have any brothers or sisters to fight with."

Lin Yifan said softly, "You and Father are gone, leaving only me in Beiping. The streets are full of Japanese devils and traitors who aid and abet the enemy. I have to find my own way. Do you know how many spoils of war I gave to the Red Party?"

"I tell you, we have 372 airplanes, enough weapons and ammunition to equip more than 100,000 people, as well as large quantities of food, medical equipment, medicines and supplies."

It can be said that I single-handedly wiped out the Japanese in North China; I killed three commanders of the North China Expeditionary Army.

Also, why do I insist that you keep this a secret? Because I know that once someone finds out that I am "the ghost," you will be the ones in the most danger.

At that time, whether it's the enemy or your own Red Party, they will use you as leverage to blackmail me. They will force me to do things I don't want to do. Therefore, the fact that I am a "ghost" is something even my father cannot know.

Meng Zhuolin's hand slid off his shoulder, and she lay on the bed as if all her bones had been removed. Her lips moved, but no sound came out; only the tears in her eyes finally broke free and rolled down her haggard cheeks.

"Three hundred and seventy-two..." she murmured, repeating the number. Suddenly, she laughed, a laugh more painful than a cry. "Do you know how many people in all of China are spreading the story of the 'Ghost'?"

"Your dad said it might be a wandering swordsman. Our branch has analyzed it countless times in meetings. We guessed it was a Kuomintang agent, a former member of the Northeast Army in exile, or…" Her voice choked, "I never imagined it would be a seven-year-old child."

Lin Yifan didn't move. He watched his mother wipe her face haphazardly with her sleeve, watching the trembling in her shoulders grow from slight to violent. The room was extremely quiet, with only the cicadas chirping desperately outside the window.

"Mom," he walked over and leaned against her bedside.

Meng Zhuolin pulled him into a tight embrace, so tight he could barely breathe. Her tears fell onto the back of his neck, burning hot.

"...It hurts," Lin Yifan said softly.

"Serves you right."

Meng Zhuolin cursed, but loosened her grip, though she still wouldn't let go of him. "Let me think about it... let me think about it..."

Her chin rested on the top of his head, her voice muffled, "I'll keep it a secret from your father. But Yifan, you have to promise me one thing—"

"You said."

"From this day forward, you are not to mention the 'ghost' to anyone. Not even the person you trust most in the future."

Meng Zhuolin finally released him, cupped his face in her hands, and forced him to look directly into her eyes. "This isn't a game, this isn't something you can handle alone. You need to learn... learn to hide yourself, hide yourself deeper than anyone else."

Lin Yifan looked at her.

"I promise you," he said, "but you must promise me one thing in return."

"What?"

"I'll talk to Grandpa Zhou and ask him to arrange for you to go to Beiping." His voice finally showed a hint of vulnerability, typical of a seven-year-old child. "I don't want to be left there alone."

Meng Zhuolin's fingers froze on either side of his cheek, as if she had suddenly lost all strength. The shadow of the banyan tree outside the window cut in obliquely, dividing her face into light and shadow.

"Beiping..." she repeated, her voice as soft as a falling leaf, "You want us to go back to Beiping?"

Lin Yifan nodded: "I only want my family to live happily together. To be honest, the reason I donated so many things to your Red Party is for these reasons."

"As you just mentioned, I'm only seven years old, a time when I should be going to school and playing with my peers. I also want a carefree childhood."

Meng Zhuolin's eyes reddened again. She looked at her son and suddenly realized what kind of look this child, who could take the head of a general, was giving her at this moment—it wasn't a plea, but the hope of a drowning person grabbing onto a piece of driftwood.

"Your father..." she began with difficulty, "His job is here; it's an arrangement by the organization. You should know that the organization paid a huge price to get your father into the military hospital; it's not something you can just leave whenever you want..."

"I'll talk to Uncle Zhou and have him start making arrangements. It's not like I'm sending you to Beiping right away," Lin Yifan interrupted her.

"Uncle Zhou?" Meng Zhuolin frowned slightly. "You mean... sir?"

Lin Yifan didn't answer directly, but simply reached out to tuck the blanket around his mother. Yu'an stirred in her swaddling clothes, her little fist waving unconsciously, before falling back into a deep sleep.

"Mom, you should rest first," he said. "We can talk in detail after you've finished your postpartum confinement."

Meng Zhuolin grabbed his wrist, her gaze almost stubbornly clear-headed: "Yifan, do you know what you're saying? Your husband is so busy with official duties, how could he possibly concern himself with the family affairs of an ordinary party member?"

"He'll handle it," Lin Yifan said softly, "because the 'Ghost' matter isn't a family affair. Why do you think I'd send them so many planes, weapons, ammunition, and supplies?"